


There's the Moon Asking to Stay

by Basic_instinct40



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Drug Use, ITS ABOUT THE YEARNING, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, The lightest amount of smut ever, These Idiots, but they dont say it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 08:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21491593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basic_instinct40/pseuds/Basic_instinct40
Summary: Realizing that Gyuri never told him the dosage to administer, Boris takes a long pull from the bottle of vodka and shrugs. ‘Fuck it,’ he decides.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 100





	There's the Moon Asking to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Well here it is.

Boris inhaled his third cigarette of the hour, blowing smoke out of the little space he had made by pulling his window down. It was low enough to let the smoke out, but not so low to allow all the heat to escape from his loft. He flicked the cigarette ash into the red clay ashtray that his oldest boy had made for him, letting his gaze drift to the sleeping form that occupied Boris's bed.  
Potter.  
He was sicker than either of them realized, stupidly becoming too dehydrated in his feverish state. Walking out of the hotel and into the warmth of Gyuri’s parked car, Theo pale and acting withdrawn, Boris’s notices he had not taken care to button up his coat against the harsh Amsterdam winter wind and coached his useless friend by the hand along with the ruined bedspread to the car cutting off Gyuri’s speech with a stern look. Placing Theo into the back of the car along with his duffle bag full of money, Boris snaps at his driver in Ukraine. “He’s fucked up, too much to drink. Let’s go.” he orders.  
Gyuri pauses to take in the sight of the disheveled man child that his boss dotted on like an ungrateful pet. His arm was thrown over his face, and Gyuri would have thought he was dead if he hadn't ever seen an actual dead body before. “You're taking him with you to Antwerp?” he asked as he slid into the driver's seat.  
Boris checked his mobile making a disgusted face at a message that had been sent to him. Turning the phone off, Boris chucked it into the glove compartment not meeting Gyuri’s eyes. “ Of course,” he responds.

The drive up to his loft was uneventful, if not boring, for Boris. He sits quietly in the front seat staring out the window while Gyuri sang quietly to his old-fashioned Russian music and Theo slept like the dead in the backseat. Boris couldn’t help, but think things should feel lighter. He should feel lighter. Here he was, a free man and richer than he had been a week ago. He had ensured the safety of Theo and his bird so what was this feeling stabbing it's way into Boris's stomach that he couldn’t shake off?  
He drifted off to sleep for the rest of the journey only waking to Gyuri’s hands shaking him in front of the loft. “Time to get up now, Borya,” his driver told him. “I'll help with your bags. The older man got out of the car and walked to the trunk leaving Boris to wake up Theo.  
He yawned loudly, wiping the sleep from his eyes and looked back to check on Theo. He frowned when he saw the state of his best friend and reached back to feel his forehead with the back of his hand. Theo was still feverish, the journey failing to heal whatever sickness ailed him. Boris jerked his hand back from the sleeping Theo when Gyuri opened the passenger door, “I'm freezing my balls off,” he exclaimed glaring at Boris.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Boris rattled back at him, buttoning up his coat and stepping out of the car. He opened the backseat with a deep sigh, not looking forward to the chore of dragging his passed out friend up the icy steps that led to his loft. “It was easier to pick him up when we were smaller and missing a couple of meals.” He told Gyuri, gesturing to all 6 feet and more of Theo. His driver grunts at him walking towards the apartment building. “I'll let myself and the bags in.”  
“Oh, I need no help with him, thank you.” Boris yells in English at Gyuri's retreating back. 

Huffing out a cloud of icy annoyance, Boris reaches for Theo's arms and props him up into a sitting position. “Hey, Potter” he says to the sleeping man, slapping him twice on the face. When that failed to rouse him, Boris cocks his arm back, slapping Theo with the back of hand which causes his glasses to go askew. Theo groaned, his eyes fluttering under his crooked frames. Boris grabbed the front of Theo’s coat lapels, twisting them in his fist. “Wakey, wakey Potter. Now,” he demanded. “I'm going to move your feet out of this car and you will walk, got it?”  
Theo's bloodshot eyes open taking in Boris’s worried face and his new surroundings. Turning Theo at the waist and taking a hold of his legs, Boris placed one foot and then the other onto the street. “Okay now Potter, up you go,” helping Theo to stand up. They take several shaky steps towards the loft when Theo freezes. Boris scans his face about to ask what was the matter, but is stopped by the hot touch of Theo's palm on his face. 

“You know,” he slurs at Boris. “I could have come with you to give it back. I could have helped.” Boris saw that Theo’s glasses were still crooked and reached to fix them.  
“Potter it was too dangerous-” He started to say, but was cut off by Theo leaning down to empty the contents of his stomach all over Boris's shoes.  
“You shit eating asshole,” Boris screams. Not being polite enough to let his friend finish puking on him, Boris continues to shout obscenities at a groggy Theo until they reach the door of his loft. Gyuri sits on Boris’s couch waiting for them with an open beer in his hand.  
“I'm happy you're so comfortable.” he sneers at Gyuri while struggling to hold Theo up right. The taller man was mumbling incoherently and his clothes were sweat soaked.  
Gyuri tilts his beer bottle up at him. “He doesn't look well.” He tells Boris before taking a long drink.  
“I told you, he's drunk,” Boris barks. “Idiot dresses like a librarian, but tosses back vodka like Russian oligarch.”  
“No,” Gyuri replied with a shake of his head. He gets up off the couch and steps towards them, taking Theo's temperature with the back of his hand. “Fever and shakes, Borya. Need to get your friend some medicine.”  
Boris whispers “"Shit,” but nods at Gyuri. “Fine, you know where to get some?” he asks his driver.  
Gyuri answers yes and helps Boris sit Theo on the now empty coach. He deposits several bills into his driver's hand and gives him instructions. “Get some hash and brown while you're out.” The other man barely lifts his eyebrows as he embarks on his mission.  
He surveys his ruined clothes telling Theo, who has passed out once more, “Well, this is my apartment.” Waving his hand towards the ceiling. “It's very nice, I know.” He carries on this one way conversation feeling slightly crazy due to the lack of sleep over the past couple of days. Boris hadn’t truly slept since he had lost the painting. He had almost forgotten how tiring it could be when you were friends with Potter.  
Taking off Theo's coat and rolling him on his side Boris explains, “I smell thanks to you so I’m going to take a quick shower. I'll leave the bathroom door open. Don't choke on your own vomit, Potter.”  
Boris showers frantically, worried he would find a dead man on his couch or that Theo would wake up and decide to go for a walk as he could be known to do in such an altered state. To his luck Theo was still on the dark brown couch when he came back to the living room. Feeling bone tired, Boris sits down in the only other chair in his living room and lights a cigarette. He let his thoughts float aimlessly while starting at the loft’s empty white walls, the only sound in the room Theo’s soft snores.  
He didn't know how long he sat there before Gyuri returns, bringing the cold air wafting over Boris who hadn't bothered to dry his hair after showering. “Shut the damn door,” he shouts. “I'll be sick next.” 

Gyuri did as he was told, bringing Boris a plain brown paper bag which he waves in his face. “Here penicillin, which will cure any thing he has and more. Also your other items.”  
Boris peaks into the bag seeing the familiar baggies and then a not so familiar glass vial full of clear liquid. Next to it was a lethal-looking syringe that appears more likely to be used on a horse than a human. He pulls it out, studying the sharp point of it. “Christ” he whispers. 

Gyuri winces at the sight of the needle. “Had my share of penicillin shots in the war. Hurt like a son of a bitch.” He glances at Theo, “Go for the meat of his thigh.”  
Boris places the needle back in the bag, not looking forward to that particular task. He sits the bag down on the coffee table and stands to take one of Gyuri's hands in his. “Thank you, friend. I could not have done what I did without you.” He uses his other hand to pat Gyuri's shoulder. “One for the books, right?” The other man smiles tirelessly, gripping Boris's hand back.  
“That it was, that it was,” he acknowledges. Boris was ready to say his goodbyes and walk the older man to the door when Gyuri held up a wrinkled palm in front of him. “A word of advice, Boyra? If I may?”  
Boris nodded yes, curious to hear what the driver would say. ‘Was this about money,’ he ponders. Gyuri seems uncomfortable about whatever it was, causing a slight panic to rise in Boris's stomach. “We are friends Gyuri,” he tells the older man. “Speak your mind, please.”  
Gyuri glances once more at Theo, his mouth fixed into a frown. “You plan on keeping him here at the loft?” he asks  
Boris's brows rise to meet his hairline. He trusts Gyuri as much as someone like him could trust a person, but this line of questioning was worrisome. He spreads his arms out to his side. “Is there some reason I should not?” 

The older man lets out a slow breath, but smiles at Boris. “It isn't my business what you get up to and I've been in this game long enough to know when to ask questions and when to stay out of things.”

“Maybe this is one of those times where you should stay out of things” Boris tells him, starting to grow defensive. 

Gyuri's eyes travel back towards the couch. “He isn't some kept woman you can impress with a loft in the city and the appearance of what they think are endless drugs.” Pointing at Theo, he continues. “That man-child is a taker and you Boyra, are a giver. He will take and take and take from you until you are a husk of a person. Then walk away from you like it's nothing.” The older man places his palm over his heart. “Trust me, I know from experience. Walk away from this one while you still have your money and heart intact.”  
Boris breathes out a small laugh. His heart pounds in his chest, threatening to rip open and lay before Gyuri. How funny the older man thought he was to think there was still time for Boris.  
Plastering on a fake smile, Boris pats Gyuri's shoulder, leading him towards the door. “Potter and I have a long history. One that many don't understand, but it isn't a history for everyone else to understand.” Gyuri opens his mouth to reply, but Boris waves him off. “Thank you for everything again.” he finishes locking the door behind him.  
Boris breathes into his nose before turning to face Theo who had rolled over onto his back. ‘Now for you.’ Boris tells him. He thinks about waking him up and pushing him towards the bathroom, but Boris is exhausted and not up for the fight. Using a clean washrag and vodka from his freezer, Boris unbuttons Theo's pants and cleans his upper thigh with the alcohol. Realizing that Gyuri never told him the dosage to administer, Boris takes a long pull from the bottle of vodka and shrugs. ‘Fuck it,’ he decides. Grabbing the vial and filling up the syringe, Boris figures that Potter could use a good dose of penicillin. 

“Here goes something,” he says out loud and stabs the sleeping man in the thigh with the needle.  
Theo jerks awake with a loud scream causing Boris to jump back with fright. Theo's glasses had fallen off while he slept and he peered at the other man, bleary-eyed. “Boris, what the motherfuck?” he shrieks.  
“You're very sick, Potter.” Boris explains sheepishly. He looks at the syringe and notices that he hadn't yet pressed down the plunger. “Shit” he hollers, scrambling up from where he had fallen on the floor. Before Theo could stop him Boris hurriedly pressed the plunger down, pushing the medicine into Theo's bloodstream.  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Theo yells, slapping weakly at Boris, who side steps his reach.  
Boris yawns, “You'll be much better now, you'll see” he assures him.  
Theo examines the syringe and then his friend. “Did you pull my pants off ?”  
Boris lights a cigarette. “Please Potter, it is anything that I have not seen before. I was giving you medicine. You're welcome.”  
Theo gives Boris a mortified look, his face pallid and his shirt still covered in vomit. “Boris, you fucking stab me.”  
Boris stomps over to the couch and removes the syringe out of Theo's thigh. Ignoring his shouts of pain and claims of torture, he raises his voice to be heard over Theo. “You have not been stabbed, but you will be if you don't quit all this yelling.”  
Theo becomes quiet at the threat, choosing instead to flip Boris off. “Turn around so I can pull my pants up," he demands.  
Boris scoffs, smashing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table. He walks to his kitchen opening the cabinet to pull down two water glasses filling them up to the brim with tap water. Drinking two full cups while standing against the sink Boris desperately wishes for sleep. Instead of going to lie down he brings a glass of water to Theo who accepts it with a reposeful thank you. He drains the glass in three gulps and Boris tells him to slow down before he pukes again. 

Theo studies the loft for the first time, his eyes taking in the sub par, but nice furniture and cutting edge electronics. “So this is a loft in Antwerp.” he states not meeting Boris's eyes.  
Boris laughs picking up the forgotten bottle of vodka. “You need to shower and get out of those clothes. You look like shit.”  
“Yeah well, I have just been stabbed.” Theo snaps. He gets up slowly from the couch placing his empty glass on the table. “Which way ?” he asks.  
Boris gives him a short tour of the loft that ends in the bathroom, telling him he would grab Theo clothes. “Don't slip in shower.” He yells at him from his bedroom.  
Leaving the clothes outside the bathroom door, Boris goes back to his room carrying the vodka. He sits on the bed as exhaustion washes over him. This apartment was the only place he had acquired in years that truly felt like his own place. It was different from his family home where his wife and children lived permanently. Boris constantly felt underfoot there as if he was interrupting their daily routines. The loft was secluded, with its location only known to a few in Boris's inner circle. And now Potter. 

Laying back on his bed, which still smelled faintly of laundry detergent, Boris replays Gyuri's words. “He is a taker and you are a giver.”  
"What the fuck does he know?" he thinks, closing his tired eyes. Boris has taken plenty from Theo over the years. When they were children he had taken his money, his food, and his time. He had taken from Theo his most precious thing and had hidden it from him for years. This is how they have always worked, both taking and giving.  
He didn't know he had fallen asleep until he awoke in the darkness of his bedroom. Night had fallen over the city and spilled into his loft, the full moon illuminating Theo's sleeping face bedside him. The other man had pulled the blanket over them and he slept facing the window, his soft snores transporting Boris back to their shared childhood. He finds the clock on the bedside table where the time flashed 2 am. Thankfully he had gotten a couple of hours of sleep and Theo had done nothing reckless during that time.  
Boris stretches out his legs carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping companion as he stands up and walks to the kitchen. He hurriedly drinks another glass of water even though his empty stomach objects. The last time he had eaten had been at the hotel when he went to collect Theo, but as usual Boris had consumed more alcohol than food. 

He fills his water glass again and carries it back to the bedroom, lighting a cigarette in the dark. With Potter asleep and now full of medicine in Boris's bed, his chest feels lighter. He stares out into the night as he chain smokes, the bright full moon the only source of light he had and allows his mind to go blank.  
“Hey,” came Theo's small strained voice from the bed. “You're awake” he says.  
Boris flicks his eyes over to Theo who has flipped onto his back. “I am, but you shouldn't be,” he tells the squinty-eyed man. “You'll never get better if you don't rest.”  
Theo nods at him wordlessly, closing his eyes and for once seeming to take Boris's advice, but then his eyes flutter open again. “Boris,” he calls out. “Sorry about--” his voice trails off.  
Boris almost wanted him to finish, to admit for once on his own accord, what exactly he was sorry for, but he still knew Theo. He knew what he was sorry for and Theo probably already knew that Boris forgave him. He always would. 

Putting out his cigarette and closing the window he climbs into bed, reaching for Theo's hands, kissing his knuckles delicately. He feels Theo hiss out a sharp breath, but remained silent. “Let's get some sleep, Potter. Morning will come soon enough.” he says, rolling over. Theo's body stiffens beside him and Boris worries he will get out of bed, but then the other man decides all at once to relax. He turns his face back into Boris, his breath tickling Boris's spine. Neither one of them could say who fell asleep first, but both men slept better than they had in years. 

The morning sun woke Boris next time along with the sound of Theo gulping down the water he had brought in last night. He blinks up at Theo who regards him closely with an annoyed expression.  
“My goddamn hip hurts,” he complains. “You'd make for a shitty nurse.” 

Boris lets out a string of Ukrainian curses flinging the blanket off of him and knocks his shoulder into the taller man as he passes on the way to the bathroom. “I have to piss like a goat.”  
“Who says shit like that?” He hears Theo say from behind him. Boris flips him off without turning around, closing the door to the bathroom. He recognizes the sound of the TV playing in the living room and Theo grumbling too low for him to make out. Plopping himself down on the couch, Boris’s stomach lurches begging for food.  
“You hungry Potter?” He asks watching Theo flip through the channels without looking at any of them.  
“Not very,” Theo answers back with a pout. Theo's hair is a bird's nest of soft brown strands that make Boris's hands ache to smooth down. ‘I'm too sober to deal with this shit,' he thinks, remembering the hash that he asked Gyuri to bring.  
“I have something to fix that. Something to get your appetite going.” Boris makes quick work of packing the product into his pipe and offers it up to Theo first who takes it with a suspicious face. Boris rolls his eyes, but is pleased when Theo takes a hit, holding it in lungs and exhaling with a pleased sigh. 

“It's good shit, right?” Boris comments when Theo passes him the pipe. Soon they are both blissfully high and Boris’s stomach rumbles loud enough for Theo to hear. “You ready to eat, finally?” Boris asks him getting up from the couch with heavy limbs. He goes into the kitchen to find a couple of Unox soup brand cans of Hearty Goulash and makes them both along with a kettle of tea. As he arranges the bowls of soup on a carrying tray, Boris drifts out of his high momentarily to berate himself for acting as if he were a dutiful housewife, but then shakes it off. ‘We are both hungry, Potter is sick and it's too cold to leave. Who else would do the cooking,’ he reasons. 

He carries the food into the living room to a glassy-eyed Theo, who looks every bit the child Boris knew back in Vegas. He’s wrapped up in a thin blanket that Boris isn't sure he's ever seen, that Theo shrugs off at the sight of food, grabbing with greedy hands for the soup bowl.  
“It's hot, careful.” Boris couldn't help, but chide at the other man. Theo blows on his spoon and then shoves the food in mouth with a moan. “Not sure what the fuck this is,” he says taking another bite. “But it's surprisingly good.”  
Boris pours them both hot cups of black tea, muttering “Fuck you” as he pushes the drink towards his friend. They both sit eating in peaceful silence, neither one of them absorbing what plays on tv. Finishing his soup and downing two cups of sugary tea Boris can't help, but pay attention to the tug he feels in his gut. The emotions of being melancholic and euphoric at the same time, spread over him as it did on the drive up. Rested and well fed, he can now see why he feels the way he does. For as long as he had the painting he still felt tied to Potter and Potter to him.  
Even though Boris was no longer the lonely weird child he had been back in too sunny Vegas, he didn't know if he would ever stop feeling as if Theo wasn't his only true companion in the world. He had finished growing up the best he could without anyone and carved a place in society for himself. His family counted on him no matter how estranged they became, his life was filled with new friends, colleagues, lovers, and enemies. Boris was a different man to different people, but around Theo he reverted back into a gangly love sick boy.  
Turning to look Theo over he saw that he had also finished his meal and was staring at the TV that showed the credits to whatever they had been watching. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand and curled his long legs underneath him wearing a pair of Boris's dark grey sweatpants which were too short and exposed his bare ankles. Before he could stop himself, Boris wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the ankle closes to him. Theo's skin feels unbearably hot under his touch and Boris made a silent wish that he sent up to the heavens. 'Stay,' he wished. 'This is the happiest I've been in so long and you should stay.’  
“Boris, you all right?” Theo asks, reaching out with his slender fingers to hover above the hand that grasped his ankle. Snatching his fingers away and pushing them through his curls, Boris scoffed at the concern in Theo's eyes and stood up to go find the bottle vodka. 

“Of course, Potter. I was simply taking your temperature.” He shuffled out of the living room, ignoring Theo as he asks with disbelief, “Through my ankle?”  
Finding the bottle of clear liquor and his packet of cigarettes, Boris pulls a heavy drink from the bottle. Still feeling loopy from getting shot and the chaotic events of the last few weeks, he wills himself to pull his shit together. Carrying the bottle back into the living room while lighting a cigarette on his way Boris saw that the movie “It's a Wonderful Life” was playing.  
“Turn the television up.” He requests to sitting back down on the couch.  
“Give me a cigarette,” Theo tells him, kicking his thigh with a bare foot.  
“Fucking brat.” Boris yells without heat passing over the pack. He lights Theo's cigarette ignoring the way his soft lips look wrapped around the filter.  
They smoked and passed the vodka back and forth, both of them steadily getting drunk. Theo gets up once to pee and grab a glass of water, sitting closer to Boris when he stumbles back to the couch. Boris breathe hitches and he grabs the vodka, draining the last of it, ignoring the warmth from Theo’s hip against his.  
“Do you have anymore?” Theo asks, peering at the empty bottle. He appears more awake in this moment than he had all day. Boris rubs his sweaty palms against his bare knees, only wearing a pair of boxers and an old faded black t-shirt. He wondered if Theo could see that he was hard. 'Well isn't this what you brought him here for?' he questions himself. 'You wanted old times with Potter and isn't this just like old times?'  
“Sure,” He finally answers, getting up to retrieve another bottle from the kitchen. Twisting the top off and wincing at the pain that radiates from his gunshot wound, Boris thinks of the little bag of brown he bought. 'Might as well,' he decides, grabbing his eyedropper and stash of clean needles. Theo eyes Boris warily as he mixes the drugs and inquires into why he started and pesters him about quitting. 

“So, why not stop then?” Theo asks, but Boris could hear the real question underneath it: “If I’m here, why do you need to do this?” 

Boris meets his eyes right before injecting. “Why should I?,” but what he wanted to say was, “Will you stay if I stop?”

Theo sighs, looking into his mug of vodka. His face was shrouded in sadness and lit up from black and white shine from the movie. “Do I really have to say why?” he offers.  
Boris smirks and wishes he had the courage to say, “Yes, this time you do,” but instead he pushes those thoughts aside. Briskly saying, “Live by the sword, die by the sword” and disregards Theo's mournful expression as he injects the poison.  
The drugs make it simpler to sweep aside the bittersweet tug in his belly and focus on the present. When George Bailey tells Mary he would lasso the moon down for her, Theo drinks deeply from the bottle of vodka. He sets it down on the coffee table and snuggles closer to Boris who slings his uninjured arm around Theo. He tries not to think about how Potter would bury this all in his mind with claims that he was too drunk to remember wanting Boris. Instead he talks through the rest of the movie, telling Theo he could stay here and lay low for a few days.  
“I thought you said things were safe now,” he asks Boris while lighting another cigarette. ‘Does he know how much it turns me on to watch him smoke?’ He wonders, nearly forgetting the other man's question at the sight of his puckered mouth.  
“No you're good, you're good. I swear,” he slurs, knowing how Theo's mind could spiral out of control. “Your hand to my heart, Potter.” he tells Theo taking his free hand and pressing it to his chest. ‘I had your heart for so long and now I feel lost without,’ he tries his best to urgently convey by squeezing Theo’s hand over his pounding heart. 

“The saying is 'hand to heart' you dumb fuck.” Theo chastises, but he doesn't pull his hand away.  
“All the same thing” he snaps. “You're such an ungrateful house guest. Light me a cigarette.” He orders and removes his hand away from Theo’s who keeps his palm over Boris's heart.  
“I'm done with this one. Here, take it.” He puts his half smoked cigarette in-between Boris's parted lips. Boris feels himself growing hard at the wetness left on the tip of the filter. Glancing at the tv in time to see that the movie had ended he drops the cigarette into his mug of cold tea. With shaky hands he reaches for Theo's glasses, pulling them off gently. Theo closes his eyes as his frames are lifted from his face, his somewhat steady hands sliding up to Boris's curls which he tugs at. He presses his warm mouth to Boris’s cheek not quite kissing it.  
“Come here, Boris,” he whispers, pressing his face in closer.  
“I'm right here, Potter.” Boris whispers back so low he wonders if the other man heard him. Theo smells like cigarette smoke, vodka, and most importantly, like home. A home Boris hadn't seen in years and felt as if he would never see again, but when Theo presses his mouth to his, kissing him in a desperate hunger way, Boris knew what he had known since he was fifteen; Potter was his home.  
It took time for them to relearn each other’s bodies, having to account for Theo's extra height and Boris’s collection of scars that the other man asks about in length as if he was taking inventory. They settled in to each other as if no time had passed and the years between them had only been hours. Stumbling back to Boris's room after the first time on the couch, he finds himself excited to show Theo the new things he had learned about the human body during their time apart.  
He wasn't lying when he said that Potter had been the only man he shared a bed with, but Boris had seen things since then. Been in rooms where people - men and women - enjoyed being watched and stored away certain acts he witnessed. 

Theo was the same as he had always been, if not more stiff to the touch, but he opened and reached for Boris like the touch starved man he tried so hard to hide. After a second time, Theo lays with his face against Boris's sweat, slick chest, petting the dark hair that hadn’t been there the last time they were together. “This is new,” he comments, running his fingers through it.  
“Mmmmm yes, Potter. New things about both of us,” he says into Theo's hair. He delights in the dark flush that spreads across the other man’s cheeks. Boris kisses Theo’s head, and smooths his soft hair down knowing he was laying his affection on thick, but who knew when he would have this time again.  
“Maybe I should stay here for a while,” Theo murmurs his mouth close to Boris's nipple. “Lay low and all.” Boris scratches his nails along Theo's scalp. He was still high, but on the come down, his thoughts slow.  
“What about the fiancée and the old man?” he implores. “You told them only three days, surely they will be worried.”  
He feels Theo shrug against him. “It’s already been more than that. Might as well keep it up.”  
“Whatever you want, Potter. Stay as long as you like.” Boris kisses his hairline again, feeling that bittersweet tugging in his belly. “You hungry?” 

“Starving,” Theo replies, sitting up. “What do you have?” 

Boris grins up at him. “Bread and sugar. A classic, no?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Theo groans laying his forehead down on Boris's naked shoulder. “That actually sounds good. How can that sound good?”  
Boris laughs his mouth against Theo's ear. He runs his hands through the other man's hair. “Like I said, it's a classic. But perhaps we should shower before we eat?”  
Theo raises his head up and regards Boris with squinty eyes. “Together?”  
“Saves water.” Boris says, sitting up. He stretches his arms above his head, feeling the warmth of Theo's eyes on his bare back. “Don't you care about the fish?” he teases turning to meet those eyes. 

Theo raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. Slapping at Boris's face half heartedly. “Yeah, it's the fish you give a shit about. What a conservationist you've grown to be.”  
Boris flashes a wolfish smile standing up from the bed and dragging Theo with him. “Come on, Potter.” As they stood in the shower together, both men grappling for control over the water temperature and who would stand in front of them, Boris tried to ignore the negative intrusive thoughts that threatened to ruin their good times. As much as he wanted Theo to stay here with him forever, a part of him knew Gyuri was right. What was he planning? To keep Potter trapped in Antwerp with enough booze and pills to keep him placated? Visit him every other week and drop off shopping money, like he did with his wife? No, that wasn't them and while Boris wasn't ready to say what he wanted from the other man, he knew that arrangement wasn't it.  
“Hey you okay?” Theo asks as they dry off with scratchy towels in the lukewarm bathroom. Boris noticed he hadn't spoken for over five minutes, which was unusual for him. He peered up through his wet curls at his oldest friend. Would he ever not crave this? These small intimate moments that made up the pocket world of his childhood? It was like the heroin he took in careful small doses. He would want Theo on his deathbed. He would die wanting him.  
The realization of this causes Boris’s whole body to shiver. “You're cold.” Theo states, wrapping his wet arms around Boris’s waist. He let himself be pulled into the hug, resting his check against Theo’s damp chest. They both stood still in the tender embrace of each other’s arms, both of them wondering when was the last time they had felt this safe. Theo pulls away first, placing his hands on Boris’s shoulders. “Let's get you dressed.”

Boris made half a loaf of toast which they ate standing up in the kitchen. They drank more as Boris told story after story of what he had been up to since Vegas. He didn’t shoot up anymore that night and when Theo passed out hours later, Boris stayed awake and booked a ticket for the other man back to New York. He stayed up for as long as he could, watching Theo sleep, cataloging the planes of his face as the full moon kept him company from above.  
He wondered what life would be like now if he had left that night with Theo, if he hadn't been so scared to tell him about taking the painting? They could have gone to California like he wanted, or shared the bedroom above the antique store together. Boris would never know now and that had to be okay. He couldn't live like Theo, who was forever trapped in that museum with a dying man and a lost mother. There could only be forward movement for from now on, it was the way he had survived all these years. That night as Boris drifted off to sleep, his arms wrapped around Theo, he dreamed of being in a room filled with thousands of Goldfinches, their eyes all watching him.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/basic-instinct40


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